Heritage and Exile (81 page)

“I cannot go directly against the heir to the Throne, Regis. If I cause him to lose
kihar
—” deliberately, Danvan Hastur used the untranslatable Dry-Town word meaning personal integrity, honor, dignity—less and more than any of these, “before the Council, how can he ever rule over them after that?”

“He can't anyway, Grandfather. Will you let him marry off Callina to save his face before Council? If you have to crown him—and I think perhaps you do—you must let him know
before
he's crowned that the Council can always veto his decisions, or you'll have him playing the tyrant over us in all kinds of foolish ways. Callina Lindir is Head of a Domain in her own right, and has been Keeper of Neskaya and Arilinn, and now here under Ashara. What about
Callina's
loss of
kihar?
”

His grandfather scowled; Regis knew, though it was not—quite—telepathy, that Hastur was reluctant to allow Callina also that much Council power.

“I don't suppose you'd be willing to marry her yourself?”

“Callina?” he asked in horror. “She must be twenty-seven!”

“Hardly senile,” said the old man dryly, “but I was speaking of Linnell. She's too good for that fool Derik.”

Evanda's mercy, is the old man harping on that string again?
“Sir, Derik and Linnell have been sweethearts since Linnie's hair was too short to braid! And you've encouraged it. She's the only woman Derik would, perhaps, consent to be ruled by. You'd break both their hearts! Why separate them now?”

“I'd like to be firmly allied to the Aillards—”

“We're that already, sir, with Linnell handfasted to Derik. But we won't be if you alienate them by losing face for Callina by marrying her off against her will—and to Aldaran,” Regis said. “And you're forgetting the most important thing, Grandfather.”

“What's that?” The old man snorted, getting up and pacing the room restlessly. “All this business about Sharra?”

“Don't you see what's happening, Grandfather? Derik did this behind our backs, and Beltran will be here on Festival Night. Which means he's already on the road, unless he's patched things up enough with the Terrans to get an aircraft or two, and it's not very easy to fly through the Hellers.” He remembered someone telling him that they had been, profanely, dubbed worse things than that by the only Terrans to try to fly over them in anything slower and lower than a rocketplane; they were a nightmare of up-drafts, down-drafts and wild thermal patterns. “So when he gets here, what do you say?
Please, Lord Aldaran, turn around and go home again, we've changed our minds!
”

Old Hastur grimaced. “Wars have been fought for a lot less than that on Darkover.”

“And the Aldarans haven't always observed the Compact that well,” Regis pointed out. “Either we have to let him marry Callina—or we have to insult Beltran by saying, maybe in public, ‘Sorry, Lord Aldaran, the woman won't have you,' or by telling him that our Prince and Ruler is a ninny who can't be entrusted even with the making of a marriage for his paxman! Either way, Beltran will have a grievance! Grandfather, I find it hard to believe you couldn't have foreseen this day!”

Hastur came and dropped in his carved and gilded presence-chair. He said, “I knew Derik couldn't be trusted to make any important decision. I said again and again that I didn't like him going about with Merryl! But could I have foreseen that Merryl would have the insolence to speak for the head of his Domain—or that Aldaran would listen?”

“If you had faced the fact that Derik was witless—well, not witless, not a ninny who should be in leading-strings with a he-governess to look after him, but certainly without the practical judgment of a boy of ten, let alone the presumptive Heir to the Throne—” Regis began, then sighed. He said, “Sir, done is done. There's no point in arguing what we should have done. The question now is, how do we get out of this without a war?”

“I don't suppose Callina would consent to marry him, just to go through the ceremony as a formality—” Hastur began, but broke off as his servant entered and stood near the door.

“Yes?”

“
Domna
Javanne Lanart-Hastur and her consort, Dom Gabriel.”

Regis went to kiss his sister's hand and draw her into the room. Javanne Hastur was a tall, handsome woman, well into her thirties now, with the strong Hastur features. She glanced at both of them and said, “Have you been quarreling with Grandfather again, Regis?” She spoke as if reproving him for climbing trees and tearing his best holiday breeches.

“Not quarreling,” he said lightly. “Simply exchanging views on the political situation.”

Gabriel Lanart grimaced and said, “That's bad enough.”

“And I was reminding my grandson and Heir,” said Danvan Hastur sharply, “that he is old to be unmarried, and suggesting that we might even marry him to Linnell Aillard-Lindir, if that will convince him to settle down. In Evanda's name, Regis, what are you waiting for?”

Regis tried to control the anger surging up in him and said, “I am waiting, sir, to meet a woman with whom I can contemplate spending the rest of my life. I'm not refusing to marry—”

“I should hope not,” his grandfather snorted. “It's—undignified for a man your age, to be still unmarried. I don't say a word against the Syrtis youngster; he's a good man, a suitable companion for you. But in the times that are coming, one of the things we don't need is for anyone to name the Heir to Hastur in contempt as a lover of men!”

Regis said evenly, “And if I
am,
sir?”

His grandfather was denying too many unpalatable facts this evening. Now let him chew on this one. Javanne looked shocked and dismayed. Granted, it was not the right thing to say before one's sister, but after all, Regis defended himself angrily, his grandfather knew perfectly well what the situation was.

Danvan Hastur said, “Nonsense! You're young, that's all. But if you're old enough to have such pronounced views, and if I'm supposed to take them seriously, then you ought to be willing to convince me you're mature enough to be worth hearing. I want you married, Regis, before this year is out.”

Then you will be in want for a long time, Grandfather,
Regis thought, but he did not say it aloud. Javanne frowned, and he knew that she, who had somewhat more telepathic sensitivity than his grandfather, had followed the thought. She said, “Even Dyan Ardais has provided his Domain with an Heir, Regis.”

“Why, so have I,” said Regis. “Your own son, Javanne. Would it not please you if he were Hastur-lord after me? And I have other sons by other women, even though they are
nedestro.
I am perfectly capable of—and willing—to father sons for the Domain. But I do not want a marriage which will simply be a hoax, a sham, to please the Council. When I meet a woman I wish to marry, I wish to be free to marry her.” And as he spoke, it seemed to him that he walked side by side with someone, and the overpowering emotion that surged up in him was like nothing he had ever felt, except in the first sudden outpouring of love and gratitude when Danilo had awakened his
laran
and he had allowed himself to accept it, and himself. But although he knew there was a woman by his side, he could not see her face.

“You are a romantic fool,” said Javanne. “Marriage is not like that.” But she smiled and he saw the kindly look she gave Gabriel. Javanne was fortunate; she was well content in her marriage.

“When I find a woman who suits me as well as Gabriel suits you, sister, then I will marry her,” he said, and tried to keep his voice light. “And that I pledge to you. But I have not found such a woman yet, and I am not willing to marry just because it would please the Council, or you, or grandfather.”

“I don't like hearing it said,” Javanne said, frowning, “that the Heir to Hastur is a lover of men. And if you do not marry soon, Regis, it will be said, and there will be scandal.”

“If it is said, it will be said and there's an end to it,” Regis said, in exasperation. “I will not live my life in fear of Council tongues! There are many things that would trouble me more than Council's speculation on my love life—which, after all, is none of their affair! I thought we came here to discuss Derik, and the other troubles we had in Council! And to have dinner—and I've seen no sign of food or drink! Are we to stand about wrangling over my personal affairs while the servants try to keep dinner hot, afraid to interrupt us while we are quarreling about when to hold my wedding?”

He was ready to storm out of the apartments, and his grandfather knew it. Danvan Hastur said, “Will you ask the servants to set dinner, Javanne?” As she went to do it, he beckoned a man to take Gabriel's cloak. “You could have brought your son, Gabriel.”

Gabriel smiled and said, “He has guard duty this night, sir.”

Hastur nodded. “How does he do in the cadets, then? And Rafael, he's in the first year, isn't he?”

Gabriel grinned and said, “I'm trying hard not to notice Rafael, kinsman. He's probably having the same trouble any lad of rank does in the cadets—young Gabe last year, or Regis, or Lew Alton—I still remember having to give Lew some extra skills in wrestling. They really had it in for him, they made his life miserable! I suppose Kennard himself had the same trouble when he was a first-year cadet. I didn't, but I was out of the direct line of Comyn succession.” He sighed and said, “Too bad about Kennard. We'll miss him. I'll go on commanding the Guardsmen until Lew is able to make decisions—he's really ill, and this business of Sharra hasn't helped. But when he recovers—”

“You certainly don't think Lew's fit to rule the Alton Domain, do you?” Hastur asked, shocked. “You saw it as well as I did! The boy's a wreck!”

“Hardly a boy,” Regis said. “Lew is six years older than I, which means he is halfway through his twenties. It's only fair to wait until he's recovered from the loss of his father, and from the journey from Vainwal. Kennard told me, once, that most long passages have to be made under heavy sedation. But when he recovers from that—”

Hastur opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Javanne said, “Dinner is on the table. Shall we go in?” and took her husband's arm. Regis followed, with his grandfather. Dinner had been laid on a small table in the next room, with elegant cloths and the finest dishes and goblets; Javanne, at her grandfather's nod, signaled for service and poured wine. But Gabriel said, as he spread his napkin on his knees, “Lew's sound enough, I think.”

“He has only one hand; can he command the Guards as a cripple?”

“Precedent enough for that too,” said Gabriel. “Two or three generations ago, Dom Esteban—who was my great-grandfather and Lew's too, I think—commanded the Guards for ten years from a wheelchair after he lost the use of his legs in the Catmen's War. For that matter, there was Lady Bruna, who took up her sword and made a notable commander, once, when the Heir was but a babe—” he shrugged. “Lew can dress himself and look after himself one-handed—I saw him. As for the rest—well, he was a damned good officer once. And if he wants me to go on commanding the Guards—well, he's the head of my Domain, and I'll do what he says. And the boys coming up—and there's Marius. He hasn't had military training, but he's perfectly well-educated.”

“Terran education,” Hastur said dryly.

Regis said, “Knowledge is knowledge, Grandfather.” He remembered what he had been thinking in Council, that it made more sense to have Mikhail, perhaps, instructed under the Terrans than to shove him into the cadets for military discipline and training in swordplay. “Marius is intelligent—”

“And has some unfortunate Terran friends,” said Javanne scornfully. “If he hadn't involved himself with the Terrans, he wouldn't have brought out all that business about Sharra today at Council!”

“And then we wouldn't know what was going on,” said Regis. “When a wolf is loose in the pastures, do we care if the herdsman loses a night's sleep? And whose fault is it that Marius was not given cadet training? I'm sure he would have done as well there as I did. We chose to turn him over to the Terrans, and now, I'm afraid, we have to live with what we have made of him. We made certain that one Domain, at least, would remain allied to the Terrans!”

“The Altons have always been too ready to deal with the Terrans,” said Hastur. “Ever since the days when Andrew Carr married into that Domain—”

“Done is done,” Gabriel said, “there's no need to hash it over now, sir. I didn't see any signs that Lew was so happy among the Terrans that he can't rule the Altons well—”

“You're acting as if he were going to be Head of the Domain,” said Hastur.

Gabriel laid down his spoon, letting the soup roll out on the tablecloth. “Now look here, Grandfather. It's one thing for me to claim the Domain when we had no notion whether Lew was alive or dead. But Council accepted him as Kennard's Heir, and that's all there is to it. It's up to him, as head of the Domain, to say what's to be done about Marius, but I suppose he'll name him Heir. If it were Jeff Kerwin I might challenge—he doesn't want the Domain, he wasn't brought up to it—”

“A Terran?” asked Javanne in amazement.

“Jeff isn't a Terran. I ought to say,
Dom
Damon—he has no Terran blood at all. His father was Kennard's older brother. He was fostered on Terra and brought up to think he was Terran, and he bears his Terran foster-father's name, that's all,” Gabriel explained, patiently, not for the first time. “He has less Terran blood than I do. My father was Domenic Ridenow-Lanart, but it was common knowledge that he was fathered by Andrew Carr. Twin sisters married Andrew Carr and Damon Ridenow—”